The documentary film Gannibal (dir. Ivan Krivogornitsyn, Spik DV Studio, 2018) is not quite the usual fare when it comes to Yakut cinema. First of all because there are unforgivably few documentaries released in Yakutia in general: local filmmakers have traditionally been passionate about feature films, with only very rare exceptions, though the Republic has more than enough in the way of textures and plots suitable for the making of documentaries. Secondly, the rough edges to this film have not been smoothed out, but rather sharpened. It is important to emphasise this, since local “cultural figures” in Russia’s ethnic republics are very often guided by logic that goes something like this: “we are so few, our language and culture are dying, there is no need to denigrate ourselves, we will quietly deal with our problems ourselves, without taking our dirty linen out in public”. And yet this logic is completely absent in Gannibal.
It might seem to some that Krivogornitsyn’s work is a pure “black pill” about how awful and hopeless everything is in the Yakut countryside. But in my opinion, the picture exists in a completely different coordinate system. At the centre of the plot is the life of Gavril Kolesov (Ganya for short – hence the nickname and title Gannibal, the Russian version of “Hannibal”), band leader of Khardyy, a group that rose to popularity in the Sakha Republic in the 1990s. Documentaries about rock bands have developed a long-established canon and set of techniques for how to talk about these bands: unseen footage, the family chronicle of a future rock star, a scandalous TV interview, the last images taken before a tragic death from an overdose, or else footage of the Queen presenting the elderly and portly musician with some official honour. You will find done of this in Gannibal. The only thing this picture has in common with other films about rock musicians is the scenes showing rehearsals and rare performances. That is probably it.